


Your Name

by Nonstop_Nonsense



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:32:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonstop_Nonsense/pseuds/Nonstop_Nonsense
Summary: Mr. Graves knew Credence better than anyone.He understood him well enough to know that what the boy wanted-what he needed- was something he could never give.





	

  


Credence brought his calloused hands together as he sank to his knees.

He prayed hard, painfully straining his neck as he looked up at the carved figure behind the altar.

Its marble face was full of sorrow, yet it looked almost cold and emotionless. Seemingly blind and deaf to Credence’s pitiful pleas.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away. Silently, he whispered his prayers to himself, in fear that his words would only end up being swallowed by the dark.

-

“If she hurts you again, you must come to me at once.” Mr. Graves’ voice was quiet as it echoed through the cramped walls of the alley.

Credence nodded weakly.

“Look at me.” A warm hand settled on the back of his neck as another lifted his chin up. “Let me hear your voice.”

The young man did as he was asked. He reluctantly stared into the other man’s eyes and immediately noticed how _close_ they were.

He noticed how easy it would be to simply _touch_ him.

“I-I will,” Credence said, voice cracking. As soon as the words left him, his eyes instinctively focused on the ground once more, lips subsequently closing shut.

A part of Credence felt undeserving of this person’s kindness. Grateful as he was, he couldn’t shake the recurring thought that at some point, Mr. Graves would be demanding the same amount of attention he was offering.

_‘Look at me.’_

_‘Let me hear your voice-’_

“Credence, I want you to have this.” Mr. Graves brought him back to his senses and proceeded to wrap something around his neck.

“Look at me,” he repeated. “Hold unto this and think of me. I’ll come.”

Before Credence could ask, the man was gone.

- 

The next time Credence went to the chapel, it was the night Ma almost choked him to death and afterwards took the pendant Mr. Graves gave him.

_‘It’s pretentious,’ she shouted, furious._

_‘It is a sin,’ she enunciated as she forcefully snatched it away._

Credence tried to contain his sobs as he collapsed on the floor on all fours. Panic rose through him as he clutched at his chest, desperately searching for the cold press of metal, only to find nothing.

He had _nothing._

 _‘Hold unto this and think of me. I’ll come’_ Credence remembered Mr. Graves’ exact words and recited it to himself like a litany.

The thought of Mr. Graves was reassuring, but at times, when Credence felt the need to punish himself for being so weak, _it simply wasn’t enough_. Once again, he found himself staring up at the cross behind the altar.

“P-please...” Credence muttered as he knitted his hands together, his body trembling as he leaned his forehead on the cold ground. _“Please.”_

“Credence.” A familiar voice spoke.

The older man knelt beside him, placing his palm on the other’s quivering shoulder.

“Come now. Let me see.”

“I-I’m so-,” Credence started but was all too soon hushed.

Mr. Graves carefully removed the boy’s tie, allowing the material to smoothly pass through his fingers and fall to the floor. As he unbuttoned the other’s shirt to reveal the bruised neck, he silently studied every inch of skin marred by scars and wounds.

Credence flinched as soon as cold fingers traced his jaw. Large hands covered his neck in a manner quite similar but very much different from how his mother did a few minutes ago.

In the privacy of the chapel, no one witnessed how Mr. Graves leaned closer and brought his lips to the boy’s throat. Not a single soul was there to see how the swollen blue stripes dissolved back into the young boy’s flesh without a trace.

In the confines of that poorly-lit sanctuary, not even Credence had caught a glimpse of _Percival Graves_.

No one had seen the way his expression darkened as he laid eyes on the fragile figure pitifully crying his eyes out as he collapsed to his feet.

As the pain subsided, Credence expected Mr. Graves to pull back, but he didn’t. Instead, he felt his head being guided to the man’s shoulder, allowing Credence some moments of peace. As if he was still wounded and Mr. Graves was healing him in his own way.

And in that vulnerable moment, he saw the subtle differences that drove him to the chapel every night. The reasons which compelled him to repent for even thinking of such things.

Credence was reminded of the times the man would want to look into his eyes and hear his voice, how he would reassure him that there’s nothing to forgive. And that there was no need for him to suffer for the littlest things.

As he was on his knees, he saw Mr. Graves. And he realized how this person would heal, instead of inflict him wounds. That he wouldn’t give him scars like the ones he had received from the very place, the shelter that promised unconditional compassion and mercy.

“If it were me,“ A low voice slipped into his thoughts, calm, but at the same time, possessive. “I wouldn’t demand of you to punish your knees in this manner.”

He wrapped the necklace Credence once lost back around the boy’s neck.

When the young man stared up, Mr. Graves was standing before him. For a brief second, he was motionless. The lingering silence in the air was heavy with the words neither of them spoke.

Time and time again, it had crossed Credence’s mind that perhaps Mr. Graves was expecting something from him. But the light behind the man was too harsh, too bright that it concealed the older man’s face.

By the time Mr. Graves slowly started to walk to the exit, Credence had half the heart to watch him leave or – worse – stand up and go with him.

A sense of guilt washed over him as he once again raised his hands to pray. Because no matter how unbearable it was to look back, this was the only thing he knew.

He painfully strained his neck to look up at the carved figure behind the altar.

Its marble face full of sorrow and yet, it looked almost cold and emotionless. Blind and deaf to his pitiful pleas. The complete opposite of Percival Graves.

 _‘But this is home, no matter how cruel,’_ Credence thought. And unlike his Ma, Mr. Graves would undoubtedly deprive him of the punishment he deserves.

Credence squeezed his eyes shut and stayed rooted in his place.  Ever silently, he whispered his prayers to himself, in fear that the only words that would come out of his mouth was a name.

  



End file.
